Memories of Portugal

That's me, stood near the Belém Tower in Lisbon, Portugal. It was the Summer of 2003. September.



Minge as a shawn Rapunzel.



I loved the trams, old and new, but especially the old!



I've no idea where this is. Any ideas, Ric?



In the rooftop pool at our hotel in Lisbon. I thought it was terribly posh for an Ibis.



Phyllis thinks he looks young here.



Pena National Palace. It blew my mind. Sadly, the day we spent there was wet and misty, but it did seem quite fitting. It felt quite luxurious to mop up all that history, notwithstanding it having only been built in the nineteenth century.

Portugal was rich and filled the coffers of my mind.



As you can see, dear reader, I ate a lot in Portugal. All delicious.



After being stung by a Weaverfish, I refused to sit on the beach any longer. The pool was quite nice, though. An elderly lady, sitting near me, was quite entertaining. She was on holiday from London with her daughter and granddaughter. I thought she was quite the Bohemian, sat there, with her relatives, reading a book subtitled an erotic novel.



No fuckwits. Just a chubby (yet brown!) man and his beau in a beautiful country.